


Secrets

by Umeko



Category: d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Artagnan and Rochefort find an answer to their needs in each other. Hot sex in the stables ensues and the pair lose track of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arithanas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/gifts).



> Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas and is now in public domain. 
> 
> This is a gift for a friend from the 3 Musketeers fandom. Some hot smutty man-on-man action. Hope you enjoy it.

The fire bathed the taproom in flickering light. Aramis was attempting a seduction of the blond serving wench. Porthos was dancing with a pair of red-haired minxes, twins by the looks of it. Athos was being his usual self sitting off to the side, nursing his tankard in sullen silence. It was time for him to leave, he could wait no longer. D’Artagnan gave a yawn and stretched lazily. 

“Tired, boy?” Athos inquired over the top of his tankard. “Didn’t see you dancing tonight. Feeling alright?” 

“Uh-huh, I’m fine, just a bit tired, that’s all,” he gave another exaggerated yawn. “I’ll turn in early, after checking on the horses…” the younger musketeer murmured and got to his feet. 

“Don’t stay out too late,” Athos huffed and returned his attention to his wine.

* * *

 

The stable boys were nowhere in sight when he approached the dimly-lit stables. He had given the message earlier. The fire of desire had flared when he spotted that familiar face. It has been too long and he saw that same hunger reflected in those dark eyes when they met his across the room. _Was he being stood up?_ Taking a deep breath, D’Artagnan stepped into the gloom within. He could smell the horses and… 

Strong arms seized hold of him from behind, pinioning his arms to his sides. Coarse facial hair scratched at the nape of his neck, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. He leaned back into that well-muscled chest and was pleased to feel bare skin and hair where the man’s shirt hung open. He turned his face to accept an eager kiss. 

“Need you now…” D’Artagnan lowered his lashes and nipped at Rochefort’s lower lip. With a low growl of primal lust, the older man shoved his partner into an empty stall and shut the door behind them. A pile of clean, fresh hay lined the floor and it was much better than rutting in horse manure. Rochefort had chosen the place well. 

Rochefort was not sure when it had started. Had it been that fresh innocent face which had prompted him to take the boy down a peg or two at their first encounter in Meung? He could have killed the boy or severely injured him but he didn’t. D’Artagnan wondered if he had sassed Rochefort back then because he did not want to be written off as another boy or he wanted the dark and handsome stranger to notice him. 

The first time they laid hands upon each other was soon after they had made their peace on orders from the Cardinal after the affair of the diamonds. The musketeers had gone off drinking but D’Artagnan had wandered off to the stables alone. He still mourned the loss of Constance. As it happened, Rochefort was there brushing his horse, a task he undertook when he needed to get away from his men and the cardinal. Wine had been shared, followed by a few words. The kiss was a hazy memory albeit a delicious one. Perhaps it was Rochefort who initiated it, or maybe D’Artagnan. It was not important. What followed was an awkward groping in the hay. A young, lithe body pressed flush against his need, lips hungry and needy on his. Their mutual need thrusting against each other through their too-tight trousers, legs and arms entwined in a crazy dance on the mouldy straw until they found their mutual release. 

Rochefort always knew he preferred male flesh to women. He had had his share of discreet liaisons but none had lasted as long as D’Artagnan. When he first came to Paris, D’Artagnan was just starting to figure things out for himself. After Constance, he would flirt with one lady, than another. Nothing would come of those affairs and many believed that like Athos, he had not gotten over losing the love of his life. Rochefort knew better and D’Artagnan soon recognized that same need inside him.

A chance meeting after D’Artagnan’s patrol ended with the young musketeer leaning against an alley wall biting on a corner of his tunic to stifle his cries of ecstasy as the Captain of the Cardinal’s Guards sucked his cock. The following week, D’Artagnan returned the favour in an empty corridor in the palace. The first time he claimed the boy’s sweet arse was in his own rooms. The boy had confessed he was virgin in that aspect and Rochefort made it as painless and pleasurable an experience as possible. Still, it amused him when he saw D’Artagnan walking in a stilted manner the following day. D’Artagnan had never sought to mount him, yet. Perhaps the lad preferred having his prick up his arse, which suited the comte just fine. 

Sometimes he wondered if Porthos, Aramis or Athos had savoured the boy’s carnal charms like he did. However, all jealousy would evaporate when his lover surrendered to him so completely and with such hunger. The trio’s care of their young friend did not extend to _those_ needs.

Dark-eyed, D’Artagnan pulled his shirt over his head. The breeches would follow. Naked, he knelt down on the straw and fumbled with Rochefort’s breeches. Time was short and they must hurry. D’Artagnan worked his lips and tongue up and down the erect shaft which sprung from Rochefort’s breeches. His deft hands massaged his balls. The comte groaned in appreciation of the attention lavished.

It was a dangerous game they played sating their forbidden appetites. If they were to be caught in the act, the least would be the ruination of their careers and prison, the worst, death for sodomy. Dark alleys, empty palace corridors, stables and fields were favoured venues for their trysts. They both could not deny that they thrived on the risk of discovery. It added a dimension to their lovemaking which could not be found in the privacy of Rochefort’s rooms. There had been several close calls. Once, Rochefort had visited D’Artagnan in his own room while his musketeer housemates and the servants were out. Aramis came home earlier than expected and the comte had to leave via the window while his lover distracted a suspicious Aramis. It was not to be Rochefort’s only visit to the house.

“Enough,” Rochefort pulled out of D’Artagnan’s mouth and bent down to kiss him sloppily on the lips, tasting the pre-cum and sweetness of his lover. With a playful shove, he pushed D’Artagnan backwards so that he landed in the straw on his back. The younger man scowled, dark eyes flashing both lust and displeasure in the guttering light of the stable lamps. 

“Duel?” Rochefort curled his still-gloved hand over D’Artagnan’s prick and felt it stir to attention. The youth bucked as Rochefort teased his length and flicked his thumb against the head.

“Y-your prick in me, now…” D’Artagnan murmured and lifted his legs, attempting to catch Rochefort’s waist between his firm thighs. 

“No oil. Listen, boy. You will be riding a long way tomorrow and your dear friends will get curious if you are sore before you even get into the saddle,” Rochefort warned with a smile as he caught both of the young man’s knees. He pressed forward so that their pricks were rubbing alongside each other. D’Artagnan’s eyelids fluttered at the contact. His fingers dug into the straw. 

“You lick my ass up and I suck your prick some more…” D’Artagnan suggested. In the privacy of a room, lube was used. Rochefort had a bottle of scented oil for the purpose under his bed. D’Artagnan’s room contained a small pot of ointment in his clothes chest. However, they had none at hand but good old spit to ease the way. There were other fluids they could use… 

D’Artagnan bit into the back of his hand as Rochefort knelt between his spread legs and lifted them up to expose his arse. He could feel the man’s tongue licking along the cleft and probing at his entrance, applying a liberal layer of spit. The tongue pushed at his entrance, threatening to breach it and D’Artagnan bucked. Rochefort could taste the salty musk which was the boy's unique flavour. It was not quite enough.

D’Artagnan yelped as Rochefort’s mouth descended wet and hot on his prick. The leather of his gloves teased his balls and the man played with them. Rochefort sucked, licked and nipped at his sensitive flesh as D’Artagnan squirmed. With a choked cry, he came hot and hard into Rochefort’s mouth and Rochefort caught as much of it as he could in his mouth without swallowing. Yanking off his glove, he spat the liquid into his palm.

“Behold, lube.” 

D’Artagnan watched as Rochefort coated his still-stiff cock with the stuff. It was so hot just watching that he felt the fire return to his groin.

“Turn over.” D’Artagnan obeyed, bracing himself on hands and knees. Rochefort slicked the remainder of the precious liquid onto his fingers before proceeding to massage the younger man’s still wet cleft. It burned when Rochefort inserted his finger past the tight ring of muscle as D’Artagnan expected. Their encounters were rare and far in between. Two fingers curling inside him had D’Artagnan whining. Three fingers inside, he was cursing Rochefort under his breath for stretching out this sweet torment. He rocked back, trying to impale himself further on the offending digits.

“Easy now…”  Rochefort withdrew his fingers. D’Artagnan groaned, disappointed. Then he felt strong hands grab his hips.

He cried out when Rochefort thrust his cock in to the hilt into his body. Rochefort shushed him, pausing to allow his body to adjust to the stretch. Then he set up a steady rhythm of thrusts in and out of D’Artagnan’s delicious heat. The younger man ground his hips back against the source of his pleasure. Rochefort released one of D’Artagnan’s hips and snaked his hand in front to encircle that stiffening prick, stroking it. D’Artagnan begged, panted and writhed, burning with need.

* * *

 

“He’s taking too long…” Athos grumbled. D’Artagnan should be back in their room by now. Instead, there was no sign of the boy. Aramis and Porthos followed cautiously. The boy did say he was checking on the horses. A lamp flickered dimly within the stables. The trio silently slipped within, hands on their sword-hilts.

“More! Harder! Ah! Mon Dieu!” Barely restrained pants and grunts broke the silence of the stables. The horses were oblivious but the intruders started at the voice. _D’Artagnan?_ One of the stalls was closed despite no horse apparent within. Cautiously, the trio crouched and inched forward. Aramis peered through a large crack in the stall door and swallowed.

The sight which greeted his eyes was unbelievably hot. D’Artagnan, panting, moaning and whining, on all fours, naked as the day he was born apart from that glowing sheen of sweat, a picture of glorious and wanton debauchery. Behind him, Rochefort, eyes scrunched shut in bliss, grinding and slamming into their young friend’s pert arse so fiercely that D’Artagnan had to brace himself against the earthen floor. It would be a wonder if the boy could get in the saddle tomorrow. With a shout, D’Artagnan came into the comte’s hand. A few thrusts later, the comte spent himself into D’Artagnan and the pair collapsed into the pile of sweet-smelling hay.

“What the…” Porthos’ eyes look set to pop out of their sockets as his mind struggled to make sense of what he was witnessing. Athos toyed momentarily with the idea of kicking in the door and running a sword through Rochefort. The notion left him when he witnessed the pair’s next actions.

Disentangling himself from under his lover’s bulk, a smiling D’Artagnan grabbed his clothes and hurriedly dressed. Rochefort rolled over onto the straw with a big grin of satisfaction on his face and re-tied his breeches. 

“Merci for coming, I needed that…” D’Artagnan crawled over his lover to kiss him on the lips. His fingers carded through Rochefort’s hair, picking out pieces of straw as the older man returned the kiss tenderly. 

“Out now, and we saw nothing…” Athos whispered. The trio beat a hasty retreat to their rooms.

 


End file.
